A Beautiful Sacrifice

Chapter Three

She didn’t trust him but before she could communicate that to him in any way he had slipped out of the door and was back again carrying a tray. Now she knew what the thud had been, he had put it down to see to her.

“Here,” He said placing down the tray and taking from it a plate with scrambled eggs and toast, “You must be hungry.”

                He placed it down on her knees but she didn’t make a move to eat anything. “Lily eat.” His anger was coming back to him; she should not have been afraid, her village should not have made what had been a simple bargain into something as perverse as this. She should not be cowering from him - she should be wandering around his home, exploring it, taking charge of it. She should not be injured and she definitely should not be looking gaunt. It was his place to take care of her and he would see to everything she needed and wanted but in his stead for these past years she should have been looked after by her very village and especially her family. The state she was currently in was not acceptable to him and as soon as she was calm enough to listen to reason he was going to be getting some answers, he would demand them and then he would seek out all those who had contributed to making this woman frightened of him to the point of near hysteria.

                When she made no move to eat he simply moved the plate to the side.

“What exactly were you told Lily, about me; about what was going to happen?” Whilst he was speaking he picked up her right arm and dipped a cloth into the other bowl left on the tray. Very gently he ran the cloth over her welted wrist and she then realised the other bowl was warm water.

“They said I was a sacrifice, if they gave me up to you then they would get to live.”

                She knew her voice was barely audible but her concentration was on his hands, watching as he ever so lightly brushed her wounds, mindful that they were sore as he washed away the blood and dirt. When he had finished cleaning he rubbed an oil over her arm where her arms were bruised and a clear gel over her cut wrist before reaching for a white bandage.

“Sacrifice. That was the words they used?”

“Yes.”

“Lily, how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Let me tell you of a story that occurred twenty ones years ago.”

                He had to contain his anger and it was proving difficult; how they had misconstrued everything, how in their pathetic minds they had twisted a simple deal and made it one woman’s living nightmare. How dare they do that! How dare they bring dishonour to him and his father. He contained his rage, taking his hand off her soft skin as a caution and breathing deeply before reaching over to repeat the same healing to her other arm.

                Always aware of her watching his actions, not willing to trust him fully (especially when he was handling what was already hurt), he ignored her stare and began his story.